The door opened, and in walked the rabbi, escorted by his assistant Sara.
“Here Rabbi, you’re at your chair. Sit down.”
The rabbi slowly lowered himself into the desk chair and looked toward the visitors sitting across from him.
“Hello Rabbi. It’s me, Shmuel Beck. I am here with my father, Mendel, and our friend Pincus Potasznik,” Shmuel said loud enough for the old rabbi to hear.
“Ah Shmuel, it’s good to see you,” the rabbi said, taking off his hat and placing his hand on his yarmulke, making sure it was still in place.
“Thank you, Rabbi,” said Shmuel.
“You have a wonderful boy, Mendel. Having him here at the seminary is a joy,” the rabbi said.
“Thank you, Rabbi,” Mendel said.
The rabbi then looked over to Pincus and asked, “Did Shmuel say your name is Pincus Potasznik?”
“Yes Rabbi,” Pincus said.
“Well what an honor having the famous Pincus Potasznik sitting in my office.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m famous, Rabbi,” Pincus said.
“You’re famous at the seminary.
You have been the topic of conversation for months with the students.”
“Thank you, Rabbi,” Pincus said shyly.
“So tell me, why are you here? What can an old rabbi do for the great Pincus Potasznik?”
Pincus explained of how he learned from Rabbi Shapira that his son was one of only thirty-six tzaddikim on the earth. He explained about the episodes and Moshe’s abilities to provide comfort to the distressed.
“Your rabbi sounds correct. He may just be a tzaddik. I would like to meet your son,” the rabbi said.
“That’s the problem, Rabbi. Moshe has been abducted by the palmist Dora Meltzer,” Pincus said.
The rabbi’s pensive mood became disturbed, and he said, “Ah, Dora Meltzer. That name has been whispered around the seminary. Some say that she is evil. Your son could be in danger.”
Pincus went on to tell him how he had met Dora Meltzer on the SS Amerika and how she had seen Moshe in his reading.
“Oh, my. You must get Moshe out of her clutches. Did your rabbi tell you about the rasha?” he asked.
“He told me that the rasha is wicked. The opposite of the tzaddik and its mortal enemy.”
“This is all true. If Dora Meltzer is indeed a rasha, and your son may soon be under her spell,” the rabbi warned, “you must rescue him and bring him back to the seminary where we will perform an exorcism to drive out the evil spirits.”
“Thank you, Rabbi,” said Shmuel, rising from his chair.
“There’s no time to waste, Pincus. You must go now, all of you, and rescue Moshe before it’s too late,” said the rabbi.
CHAPTER 84
THE SEDUCTION
It had been many years since Dora had learned the dark arts of chiromancy. She had done very well for herself. But she was hungry for more, and the only way to advance her powers would be through a tzaddik. Now she had one in her web.
Dora knew that it was preferable for the tzaddik to submit to the rasha’s advances willingly and without resistance. But if that were not possible, there were other methods of persuasion.
She watched Moshe through her bedroom window wandering the walled garden below like a caged animal. She would attempt seduction first. He did seem to be old enough to be lured by her erotic charms.
Mr. Marcus led Moshe out of the garden, up the staircase, and down the hallway, where he knocked at a pair of doors.
“Send him in,” Dora called out.
The doors opened and a frightened Moshe entered.
“How old are you, Moshe?”
“I’m fifteen,” he answered.
“That’s a good age. Come and sit. I want to talk with you.”
Moshe found a chair as far away from her as possible.
“Moshe, you are shy,” she said standing up from her vanity table and walking over to him. She had applied her most alluring makeup, which highlighted her eyes and lips. She wore the same blue silky housecoat but without the lace throw.
She saw Moshe clutch the arms of the chair as if he were about to be forcibly removed. He stared up at her as she approached.
“Moshe, you have never been with a woman before, have you?”
He sat there, unable to speak.
She gently ran her fingers through his curly brown hair.
“You are very handsome, Moshe. Would you like to touch me?”
Moshe nodded.
She took his hand and led him to her bed. He sat on the edge of the large soft mattress, covered with an oversized bedspread and dozens of decorated pillows. She stood before him and untied her belt, revealing her naked body underneath. Her firm breasts remained partially covered, while her soft flat belly, as well as everything below it, was now exposed.
She took Moshe’s hands and placed them on her hips. Dora gently pushed him back on the bed and climbed on top. The housecoat slipped off her shoulders, and she gazed down at the mesmerized eyes that scanned her naked body.
“Would you like me to undress you, Moshe?”
He nodded.
CHAPTER 85
THE RESCUE PLAN
Pincus, Mendel, and Shmuel found a quiet table toward the back of Katz’s Deli to discuss their plan.
“Let’s recruit some men from your shul, Mendel, and knock down her door,” said Pincus.
“We might get ourselves arrested if we do that. After all, there’s no proof that Moshe was taken unwillingly,” Mendel advised.
“There has to be a way for her to give up Moshe without resistance,” Pincus said.
“Or to lure them out of the house with a ruse and grab Moshe,” said Shmuel.
“What are you suggesting, Shmuel?” Asked Mendel.
“As far as we know, Dora has no special powers or abilities. Even if she knows the prayers, she can’t succeed with them alone. She will need to consult with a rabbi versed in the dark arts of Kabbalah. A professor I know at the seminary is an expert on Kabbalah and is against these evil practices. Maybe if I told him the details, he would help us.”
“Help us, how?” asked Pincus.
“He can approach her and offer his expertise in harnessing the powers of the tzaddik. Dora would not find it unusual if such a person were to contact her. She would probably expect it.”
“Okay, then what?” asked Mendel.
“Then he would explain that in order to perform the ceremony, she would need to bring Moshe to his hidden sanctuary. I know the perfect place. It’s on Willet Street just off Grand. It was built in 1826 as a Methodist church and served as a stop on the Underground Railroad. Ten years ago, a congregation of Jews from Bialystok converted it into a synagogue. They painted the sanctuary ceiling with zodiac symbols to correspond with the Hebrew calendar. A friend of mine at the seminary is a member. If I tell him what we are planning, I’m sure we can get access to it for a night.”
The men nodded their approval.
“That’s where we hide out and grab Moshe,” said Pincus.
Shmuel found Professor Rabbi Frenkel in his office and explained the plan. At first he thought it ludicrous. But when Shmuel offered more background to the story, the rabbi became convinced that this would be indeed be a mitzvah.
Shmuel told his dad and Pincus that all was in place. The Willet Street Synagogue was theirs for the evening. Rabbi Frenkel would knock on Dora Meltzer’s door that afternoon to introduce himself and offer to perform the ceremony.
CHAPTER 86
THE RUSE
Dora watched Mr. Marcus lift up Moshe and carry him out of her bedroom. She had put a few drops of barbital, a sleeping potion, in his tea after their lovemaking. The time had come to take him to the Willet Street Synagogue for their appointment with Rabbi Frenkel. Perhaps this would unlock the key to the tzaddik’s energy.
Her seduction had clearly had no effect on Moshe except to satisfy his lustful desires. Perhaps he was too young and too innocen
t to understand what a powerful woman like Dora could provide for him. She would need outside assistance, and just as she’d wished for it, it had come. Earlier that day, Rabbi Frenkel had appeared at her home with knowledge about her captured tzaddik.
“I can help you break though to his soul. Your witchcraft and palm-reading and even your womanly charms stand no chance against the powerful forces of the tzaddik,” said the mysterious Rabbi Frenkel.
“How did you know he was here?” she asked.
“The tzaddik are indeed hidden to most except those who have mastered the dark arts of Kabbalah,” he told her. “They leave bread crumbs—you just have to follow the trail.”
His instructions were to bring Moshe to the Willet Street Synagogue at midnight.
With Moshe drugged and propped up in the back seat of the motorcar, Dora got in, and Mr. Marcus drove five minutes to the synagogue.
They had been told to park in the alley and enter through the back door. Mr. Marcus found it easily and saw the rabbi standing in the open doorway as they drove in.
“Quickly now. Bring him inside,” he instructed.
Mr. Marcus lifted Moshe from the back seat and carried him up the metal steps into the rear of the synagogue. Dora followed closely behind them.
As she entered the sanctuary, Dora felt her eyes widen. A soft glow filled the sanctuary space, which was illuminated by hundreds of tall candles burning in decorative golden candelabras. The carpeting, drapes at the bimah, and cushions on the pews were in a deep red fabric. A tall, delicate series of stained glass windows rose around the sanctuary’s perimeter.
What convinced Dora that this would indeed be the perfect place for the ceremony were the zodiac signs painted on the ceiling. She knew of no synagogue—at least in New York—that honored the astrological symbols. Only a rabbi versed in the Kabbalah would know how to draw on the powers from the heavens.
“Lay him down on the bimah,” said the rabbi.
Mr. Marcus gently put Moshe down on the large wooden table normally used for Torah readings during services.
“Please have Mr. Marcus leave us,” said the rabbi.
“I will stay,” insisted Mr. Marcus.
“He cannot stay, Dora. He is not of our faith.”
Dora nodded and Mr. Marcus left the synagogue to go wait in the car.
As soon as the back door slammed shut, Pincus, Mendel, and Shmuel jumped out from behind a pew a few rows back, and the rabbi stepped between Dora and Moshe.
“Have you set me up, Rabbi?” Dora growled.
Pincus walked down the center aisle. “It’s over, Dora. I’m taking my son home.”
Dora turned around to look at Pincus, Mendel, and Shmuel walking toward her.
“I don’t think so,” Dora said, reaching into her pocket and pulled out a pistol.
She pointed it at Moshe. “Either Moshe leaves with me alive or he leaves with you dead. It’s your decision, gentlemen.”
Pincus looked at Dora with his arms outstretched. “No one needs to get hurt. Put down the gun and we all can leave peacefully. Just give me back my son.”
“I guess you underestimated me,” she said with a smile. “Rabbi, would you be so kind as to ask Mr. Marcus to come back in please.”
“You won’t get away with this,” Pincus said.
“If you look at this from my point of view, it appears I will.”
A voice appeared from up in the women’s section in the mezzanine overlooking the sanctuary floor. “Put the gun down, Dora.”
All eyes turned upward to the balcony and there stood Clara with a rifle trained on Dora’s heart.
“It is indeed over. Put down your gun—the police are on their way.”
After the police came and took Dora and Mr. Marcus away, Pincus, Mendel, and Shmuel all looked at Clara.
“How in the world did you know about this?” asked Pincus. “And where did you get that rifle?”
“Your friend and accomplice Rabbi Frenkel is married to Etta Frenkel, an old friend from Sanok. We found each other a few months ago at the butcher shop and have renewed our friendship. So when the rabbi came home and told Etta of your clandestine plans to rescue Moshe, she thought it would be a good idea to tell me. Which she did, thank goodness.”
The men all looked at the rabbi.
“Normally she can keep a secret,” he said defensively.
Everyone broke out into laughter.
“But what about the rifle, Clara. Where did you get that?” asked Shmuel.
“Oh, that’s not real. I picked that up at a toy store on Grand.
Good thing Dora didn’t look too closely,” she said, precipitating another round of laughter.
“Mama, is that you?” Moshe asked, propping himself up on his elbows, rubbing his sleepy eyes, and pushing a few of his brown curls away from his face.
“It’s me, Moshe. Papa is here too. We’ve come to take you home.”
CHAPTER 87
THE EULOGY
After twenty years of living in America, Clara had made many dear friends who were distraught to hear of her passing. Moshe, along with his brother and sisters, greeted and thanked them for coming. They offered the same answers over and over to each mourner. “Yes, she had been ill for some time . . . it was the pneumonia . . . she was too young, only fifty-five years old.”
Clara had passed the previous day, on a Friday afternoon. The funeral would be delayed until Sunday, because of the Sabbath. She had been ill for some time, but that didn’t prepare Pincus for the shock of losing his beloved wife.
“Papa, please calm down,” Moshe begged his father, as he sobbed in his bed.
“I can’t live without her,” Pincus choked out.
“Yes, you can, we’ll help you,” Moshe said, gently lifting his father’s head and placing another pillow to prop him up.
“She can’t be gone,” Pincus moaned.
Moshe clutched his father’s cold hand between his own. “Mother has passed on. It was her time.”
As Pincus drifted off, Moshe told him he would handle the burial arrangements at the Landsman Society’s gravesite in the Beth David Cemetery. Then he went downstairs to say goodbye to Mendel and Shmuel, who had driven up to the Bronx from their apartment in Greenwich Village.
“Your mother meant a lot to me, Moshe,” said Shmuel.
“She was indeed special,” added Mendel.
Moshe turned back to look at the living room Jennie prepared for the shiva. The larger pieces of furniture had been moved into another room and replaced with a series of small wooden chairs that lined the long wall facing the fireplace. The mirror hanging over the stone fireplace had been covered with a sheet. Against the wall with the windows looking out onto Pondfield Road sat a large table with food and beverages. His parents had made a good life in their beautiful home in Bronxville.
Jennie walked in from the kitchen and looked around.
“Where is Papa?” she asked.
“He wasn’t feeling well, so he went upstairs to lie down,” said Moshe.
“I’ll go check on him,” Jennie said.
“Good, because I’m all of a sudden not feeling very well either. I think I need to lie down,” Moshe said.
Jennie looked at her brother as he turned pale and began to break out in a cold sweat.
“Oh, no, Moshe!” she yelled and ran upstairs.
The next morning, Moshe called the Beth David Cemetery to inform them that two plots would be needed that day, not just one for Clara. Pincus Potasznik had passed the day before of heart failure.
Moshe and his siblings sat together giving each other comfort as the coffins were removed from the home and put into the two waiting hearses.
“Moshe, are you feeling okay?” asked Jennie.
“I’m fine. It’s just hard accepting that they’re both gone. At least with Mother, we had time to say what needed to be said. I should have known this could happen,” Moshe lamented.
“Don’t be hard on yourself. Who can predict su
ch a thing?”
Mendel and Shmuel, who had returned early the next day upon hearing about Pincus’s death, helped the family to the waiting cars.
“I can’t believe Pincus passed so quickly after Clara,” Mendel consoled Moshe.
“I can. They loved each other that much,” added Shmuel.
“I agree. He died of a broken heart,” Moshe said, clutching Mendel’s arm.
The synagogue had the largest congregation in Bronxville. Its newly built sanctuary held over 400 people. When Moshe entered, he saw that every seat had been filled, and a few people stood along the sidewalls and the back wall. He greeted many of them as he walked down the center aisle to the first row reserved for his wife Leah and their children Barbara and Elaine, as well as Jennie, Hymie and Anna’s growing families.
Moshe heard the words of the rabbi’s prayers, but they seemed distant. He thought of the things he wished he had thanked his father for.
Thank you, Father, for saving us from the ravages of war.
Thank you, Father, for building a life for our family in America.
Thank you, Father, for teaching me the cobbler trade.
Thank you, Father, for loving our dear mother.
He felt a tug on his arm and a squeeze on his shoulder. Moshe turned to look at Leah, who was trying to bring him back from his wandering thoughts.
“It’s your turn, Moshe,” she said.
Moshe looked up to the bimah and saw the rabbi looking back at him and gesturing for him to come up and deliver his eulogy to the congregation. He felt for the folded papers tucked into his jacket pocket.
Moshe rose and walked over to the two closed caskets. He kissed the edge of his tallit draped over his shoulders and transferred the kiss by touching each casket. He climbed the three steps up to the platform and turned to face the congregation. Moshe looked out among the many faces of friends and family members.
He slowly removed the papers and placed them on the empty bimah. He reached into his pocket for his reading glasses and found it empty. Quickly he patted his other pockets and realized he had left them at home.
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